Page 6 of The Pakhan’s Heir

My skin gets ice cold suddenly. “What offer?”

“He wants unity. He’s suggested that our Bratvas become one,” he says. “His proposal is that our oldest children marry to unify our brotherhood under one name.”

“What?” I nearly yell. “An arranged marriage?”

“That’s right. He doesn’t have an heir. When he leaves this planet, one of the men under him is likely to take his place… unless his daughter marries someone of worth. She’s very pretty and quite young. Suitable for this kind of arrangement, in my opinion.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Suitable?”

“I’ve always found it beneficial to marry a younger woman. They’re much easier to handle and will likely give you plenty of future heirs.”

“Dad—” I stop myself, my temper starting to get the better of me. I don’t want to get married. I have never wanted to get married. That is something I gave up on years ago. I take a moment to gather myself, then, “I have no interest in getting married.”

“Honestly, Son, I couldn’t care less about your interest in marriage. This is a political contract and I expect you to fall in line.”

I just stare at my father. I know better than to protest too hard. My father is the one person on this planet who can move me to do whatever he wants. He can do it with his voice or he can just as easily do it with his fist.

But marriage? To a woman I don’t even know?

“Do I at least get to meet this chick before signing my life away on a political contract?” I ask. I can’t stop the bitter tone from coming out in my voice.

“Slavik and I can discuss a meet and greet between you, if it’ll make it easier,” he says. “Either way, you’re going to marry Nona Sokolov. I won’t accept any other option.”

“Dad,” Rikki speaks up, “what if they don’t get along? Or what if this chick has designs on stabbing Alex in the back? Literally. For all intents and purposes, she’s still Irkutsk. You can’t expect us to trust her.”

“The entire point of this union is trust,” he says. “When your brother is married, the Irkutsks will fall under Rostov dominion. We will both have access to more drugs, prostitution, and arms contacts, which will make us stronger in the long run. It’s a win-win for everyone involved.”

“Not everyone,” Rikki says. My father glares at him.

“He will do his duty. This isn’t for his own skin. This is for the brotherhood. Your brother, and you, I might add, have dedicated your lives to this. I expect nothing more than obedience. Am I understood?”

“You are,” I speak up just as Rikki starts to protest. “I will do as you ask.”

“Good.”

That matter settled, my brother and I leave our father’s house. As we walk out, Rikki says, “You know this is bullshit, right?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I know.”

3

NONA

Ithink about what actual prison must be like. Papa’s told me stories over the years about spending time in prison. He’s done time both here in America and in Russia. Usually, when he talked about that, though, it was always in the form of some kind of parable, so he mostly just ever talked about how awful Russian prisons were. Always in a kind of back in my day kind of way.

I’m thinking about that now on day two of my own incarceration. My bedroom is nothing like what actual prison must be like. For one thing, Papa said that the cells were so small, you could barely turn around in them. I, on the other hand, have plenty of space. My room is big enough for my queen-sized bed, all my bedroom furniture, and even a corner where my vanity sits. I look over at it from my bed. It hasn’t been touched since I left. The salmon paint job that it’s had since I was a little girl is chipped in spots. A counter that’s about a million different shades of eyeshadow, blush, and lipstick. I’m actually glad he never cleaned or repainted it. Somehow, the stained surface makes me feel welcome. Like it’s the one space in this house that’s truly mine.

Papa has also told me that in prison, the toilet is in the same little space as the beds. And sometimes, you have to share that space with someone else. I can’t imagine what that must be like, trying to sleep and your roommate pissing inches away from your head. At least I’ve got my own bathroom, the only space in my room that has been cleaned since I’ve been away, and for that, I’m grateful. Not sure how much I could have tolerated a dirty bathroom over the last couple of days I’ve been in this room.

I’m in a gilded cage, as they say. I can see outside my window. Food’s brought to me on a daily basis—good food. Not the slop that Papa always said they serve in prison. I can read my books. I can sleep in peace. If I could come and go as I please, I’d call it a sanctuary.

This is a sanctuary that I can’t leave without my father’s permission.

I shouldn’t have eavesdropped, but since I did… I’ve been holding onto that fleeting moment of happiness when I heard that Papa is trying to broker peace with his rival. Peace means that I’ll be able to move around the whole of Manhattan freely for once, not just sticking to the Upper East Side and Midtown. That’s something I’ve never really been able to do. My father has always had rivals and they’ve always been looking for ways to get at him. It’s why I went to private school my whole childhood. So he could keep a better eye on me.

The other thing is that peace also means that my father might live a little longer. The fewer enemies he has and the more allies he gains, the better his chances of survival. Or at least, that’s how I see it.

Kind of seems foolish to think about that now, being that I’m at the business end of his latest punishment, but he’s the only family I really have left. I don’t know what I would do if he were gone. I’d like to think that he would make arrangements for me, give a final command to the brotherhood to watch out for me while I move through a world that doesn’t have him in it. I suppose that’s how it’s supposed to go.